


Limelight Revelations (Watching the Good Omens TV series)

by sous_le_saule



Category: Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Declaration of Love, Fluff, Footnotes, Good Omens Holiday Exchange 2017, M/M, Philosophical Discussion, TV Show, friends being nice with each other
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-12
Updated: 2018-02-23
Packaged: 2019-03-04 00:41:40
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 15,478
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13352874
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sous_le_saule/pseuds/sous_le_saule
Summary: Synopsis: Aziraphale and Crowley find out a tv series had been made about them and the Almost-Apocalypse. Watching their own life on screen will shed a different light on some words and deeds, requiring the angel and the demon to bring up long-hidden feelings.Cast: two idiots in loveGenre: romantic comedy





	1. Promo

**Author's Note:**

> Many thanks to Lunasong, my beta, who did an amazing job, as always. I couldn’t have done this without her help. 
> 
> Foreword: For the sake of surprising our favourite angel and demon, let’s pretend the tv series does not adapt a preexisting book. And for the sake of self-indulgence… my fic, my casting (please, don’t hate me, David Tennant fans).

“That film was awful,” said Crowley, pouring the remaining wine into their glasses.

“I’ve never seen so many historical inaccuracies in one place,” confirmed Aziraphale.

“And that habit of always casting white men for everything! They were supposed to be Egyptians!”

Aziraphale jumped at the chance to pontificate about the latest research on the genetic history of ancient Egyptians1 and Crowley absent-mindedly listened to him, sipping his wine and half-eyeing the adverts following the movie, which included a promo for a forthcoming series.

[1 He’d read it on the internet. In January 2006, he’d asked Crowley to teach him how to use it. But it wasn’t as funny as the demon had expected: by some miracle, the internet only showed Aziraphale interesting articles and rare books auctions. The moment the angel gazed at the computer screen, it was like silly memes, porn and pop-up ads with no close button had never existed.]

Crowley choked and almost spat out his wine, which made Aziraphale stop short.

“Are you alright, dear?”

“Hush!” The demon grabbed the remote to turn up the volume.

“Don’t _hush_ me and tell me what’s wr-“

Crowley insistently gestured toward the television screen, until Aziraphale looked too, speechless2 and eyebrows raised.

[2 A phenomenon almost as rare as a rain of fish.]

The promo ended and they incredulously stared at each other.

“What the hell…” started Crowley, breaking the silence.

“It must be a coincidence…”

“An angel and a demon who try to stop the Apocalypse!”

“Well, they could’ve imagined such a story.”

“With a bookseller angel? And a lost Antichrist? Coincidence, my arse!”

“But… how? Nobody remembers what happened… except…”

“Adam!” they exclaimed in unison.

Aziraphale frowned. “I can’t see why he’d…”

“We’ll find out later. For now, I need to see it again.” Crowley rewound the subsequent advert and the promo, letting Aziraphale baffled.

“You weren’t recording, were you?”

Crowley reran the promo and, focused on the screen, mumbled that he’d explain how it worked after checking something crucial.

“You’re right,” said Aziraphale after the second viewing. “It’s undoubtedly us.”

“Yesss!” Crowley triumphantly hissed at the same time.

“What?”

“The actor who plays my role. I wasn’t sure the first time but it’s him! It’s Riz Ahmed!”

“Is that… a good thing?”

“Angel, that guy played in _Rogue One!”_ Aziraphale looked confused. _“Star Wars!”_   The angel blinked twice. Crowley sighed. “Listen, he’s cool, okay.”

“Ah.” Aziraphale seemed to briefly consider the matter. “And the actor who plays my role, who is he? I’ve never seen him.”

“Richard Ayoade.” Crowley did his best to keep a straight face, because he’d thought of Aziraphale several times while binge-watching _The IT Crowd._

“Is he… cool?” asked the angel, with the air of someone who’s far above such considerations.3

[3 And making “cool” sound as if there was a procession of quotation marks around the word, as was usual when he was borrowing what he used to call “a colloquial term from Crowley’s colorful idiom”.]

“Er… that’s not really the word I’d use.”

“He looks a little… weird.”

Well, Aziraphale _was_ a little weird, especially for an angel, but that was one of his charms. Though that kind of thing was a lot easier to say when one knows they’re about to fight Satan and be saved from eternal embarrassment by their imminent annihilation. So Crowley remained silent.

“And he’s so slim,” resumed Aziraphale. “I guess they thought I… my character would look better that way.”

Crowley could recognise a hurt tone concealed under a seemingly detached comment when he heard one.4 Ah, maybe… maybe he could survive a bit of embarrassment after all.5

[4 He was familiar with this on a personal basis. 

5 As if it was the first time.]

“Then they’re idiots, angel.”

Aziraphale gave him a surprised look. “You really think so?”

Since when did he care about Crowley’s opinion on his appearance? For sure, the demon wasn’t going to dig himself deeper by saying that his friend was perfect the way he was.6

[6 Because it wasn’t a demonic thing to say. (And absolutely not because Crowley suspected he wouldn’t be able to say it without blushing, even though it was silly because there was no reason to blush for saying to your friend he’s good-looking, but it didn’t matter anyway since a demon would definitely not say such things, so everything was perfectly fine, end of debate.)]

“Quit fishing for compliments, will you? We must learn more about it.”

“I’m not… Hmpf. I’ll contact Adam.”

“And I’ll search the Internet.”

“All right. It said it’ll be broadcast next week. Perhaps we can still prevent it.”

“What? Why would you want to do that?”

“Crowley! People cannot find out about what happened. They’d be upset and scared and-“

“They’ll just think it’s a fantasy. Nobody’s going to believe it’s a true story.”

“But what if that series attracts curious people into my bookshop?” whinged Aziraphale, looking really concerned this time.

“Surely it won’t be located that precisely and there are many bookshops in London. Anyway, I’m sure nothing will happen that you won’t be able to manage with just a bit more erratic open hours.”7

[7 Crowley had never paid close attention to Aziraphale’s bookshop open hours because it had always been open for him. Therefore, he couldn’t realise it was impossible to make them more erratic than they already were.]

He wasn’t sure he had convinced him, but the angel didn’t argue further and left, after they'd agreed to stay in touch.8 Crowley closed the door and leaned against it.

[8 Which wasn’t a great change: since the Almost-Apocalypse, they were rarely getting through a day without hanging out with each other or, at least, texting (with mixed results, because Aziraphale’s messages were so long that they often turned incomprehensible, while Crowley’s fanciful abbreviations and ambiguous emoticons had gotten the angel lost in translation more than once).]

“I’ll be as cool as James Bond,” he dreamily whispered to himself, a delighted smile across his face.

 

**The next day**

Online information about the series was oddly scarce. Crowley found no pictures or anecdotes from the shooting, but the rest of the casting was available. He blessed when he read it. The promo had said “a demon and an angel,” and he hadn’t thought their own names would be divulged. Aziraphale wasn’t going to like that, probably rightly. That could get them into trouble.

He scanned through the actors’ names. As a series and film fiend, he recognised almost all of them. The four horsemen were played by Natalie Dormer, Tom Hiddleston, Steven Yeun and Peter Serafinowicz. A little strange, for someone who knew them, but an interesting choice. Ruth Negga was Anathema and Matthew Lewis, Newt. It was quite fitting. The best part was Hugh Laurie playing Hastur, and Peter Dinklage, Ligur.9 There were other lesser-known British actors and actresses. The kids were obviously novice.

[9 The duke was short, but not _that_ short. Not before he started crumpling due to the holy water, that is.]

He also learned that a certain Neil Gaiman had written the script – how that guy had known about them was a mystery.

Crowley was trying to hack into Adam’s bank account10 when Aziraphale phoned. “So what did Adam say?”

[10 He had stolen a letter from Adam’s bank the last time Aziraphale had insisted to “pay the _boy_ a courtesy call”. Crowley had always been a bit of a kleptomaniac.]

_“Hello, dear.”_ The mild rebuke was unmistakable. “He wasn’t there. But I met his neighbour. A lovely old lady who knows everyone in Tadfield. She had a delicious Earl Grey and-“

“Get to the point, angel. Where is he?”

Aziraphale huffed. “On holiday, and for a long time. _Showing his children Earth,_ she said.”

Crowley smirked as Adam’s account history finally displayed. He skimmed it.

“No wonder with the tidy sum that Neil Gaiman paid him. Either Adam sold him ideas for the script, or he’s even Gaiman’s ghostwriter. I can’t believe he’s stepping on my toes. Television is _my_ field.”

 _“Was,_ dear. He retired us.”

“Mmh. I see Adam also made a substantial donation to Greenpeace.”

“There’s at least something good from this whole affair. And I won’t ask how you’re in possession of such information.”

“Yeah, I’d rather you tell me why you sound less worried than you were yesterday.”

“He left us a note. The neighbour gave it to me.”

“Why didn’t you say that sooner?”

“I was about to when you cut me off. Rather rudely, I might add,” retorted Aziraphale petulantly.

Crowley rolled his eyes. “Just spit it out!”

“He wrote…” started Aziraphale in a prim tone. He paused and Crowley knew he was unfolding the note to quote it exactly. _“Hi, guys. I guess you’ll show up sooner or later. Don’t worry about the series. It’s all for the best, I swear. I think you’ll understand, at the end. And I promise no trouble will come from it.”_

“Is that all?”

“There are two postscripts. The first one says, _Don’t bother trying to contact me during my trip. I’ll be under the radar for several weeks._ And the second, _Zira, your shop will be ok._ With a… winking emoticon,” said Aziraphale. 11

[11 His tone made it clear that an emoticon in a handwritten note was absolutely inconceivable.]

“Do you trust him?”

“He said we wouldn’t be in trouble after the Almost-Apocalypse and he was right,” cautiously answered the angel.

“You've got a point.”

“Anyway, since it’s confirmed he’s behind it, I doubt we could foil it. So… I suppose we could just… do nothing?”12

[12 They were incredibly good at it.]

“Right. Just enjoy the show.” Crowley was relieved. Nothing was getting between him and his future Coolness.13 “Erm… angel… you’ll watch it here with me, of course?”

[13 No, _Additional_ Coolness. He was already cool. Of course. Right? Right.]

“Gladly, my dear.”

Crowley heard the smile in Aziraphale’s voice and couldn’t help grinning.


	2. Episode 1

“Ready, angel?”

Crowley was overexcited. He’d been talking nonstop about it for a week.

“As ready as I can be, I suppose.” Aziraphale sighed and sat down. He couldn’t get rid of a persistent foreboding, but he had kept quiet, so as not to ruin his friend’s enthusiasm.

Crowley was fidgety on the couch, but when the opening credits started, he leaned toward the television then stayed very still, sitting cross-legged and holding a cushion tight against him.

Eden was somewhat stereotyped, in Aziraphale’s opinion, but it felt a little weird to see it on screen anyway. Though it would have been worse if he'd had to watch his own buttocks1 so he was grateful the angel was wearing a robe.2

[1 Technically, Richard Ayoade’s, but still. 

2 He was less grateful about his very badly groomed wings, because it would only add grist to the mill for Crowley, who’d always made a big fuss about them. Checking out his own wings wasn’t easy but Aziraphale was pretty sure they weren’t such a mess.]

Crowley let out an ecstatic squeak. “Look at the Serpent! I’m gorgeous!”

“Of course, dear,” murmured Aziraphale. Crowley was always gorgeous, no matter his form.3

[3 Alright, maybe not the one with the maggots. And yet, Aziraphale found them less disgusting than ordinary maggots. (Not that he was officially allowed to think they were disgusting - creatures of God and all that.)]

“I still can’t believe you lied directly to God,” said the demon, with a hint of admiration in his voice.

Aziraphale made a noncommittal noise. Crowley nudged him. “Oh, please, don’t pretend you’re not proud as a peacock about it! You couldn’t help bragging in the Buggre Alle This Bible.”

The angel couldn’t hold back a smirk.

 

The series was now showing them through the centuries. Enemies, first.4 Then associates. Then friends. _Sort of_ friends, Aziraphale had once overheard Crowley saying to a shared acquaintance who was surprised they knew each other. The angel had mentally crossed out the “sort of” that was most assuredly for show.

[4 They had never been very zealous in this, to be honest. Too tiring.]

He uncomfortably observed that Adam hadn’t lied when he’d said he knew all about them. For instance, he knew how Crowley had traded his idea for a helicopter – the demon was so smart – for Leonardo da Vinci’s sketch of the Mona Lisa. Nostradamus’ appearance – a true lookalike – brought back nice memories. Though Aziraphale’s smile froze when he saw Riz Ahmed hanging out with Shakespeare. A question had been lingering in the back of his mind for a long time, and it was the perfect opportunity to let it slip offhandedly.

“So, uh… you two were very close, weren’t you?”

“Yeah.” Crowley’s smile was tinged with nostalgia. Aziraphale’s stomach cramped. Obviously, the second cream cake at tea time was a bad idea. The demon nodded his head toward the screen. “Just like you with Oscar, I guess.”

“We were close friends, but nothing more,” replied Aziraphale, more curtly than intended.

“That’s what I’m saying.” Ah? Aziraphale had always thought… Well, it was… good to know. To avoid any faux pas in conversation, that was all. “Why do you- Oh, fuck!” Crowley stared wide-eyed at Riz Ahmed in various 20th century clothing and stammered, “I never wore such ugly suits! And those haircuts! Ha! As if-“

“I’m sorry to disagree, dear boy, but I distinctly remember them.”5 Aziraphale felt better now that the cream cakes had ceased to torment him and he added mischievously, “I might have even kept some pictures somewhere.”6

[5 After his interminable nap, Crowley had been experimenting with a lot of unlikely fashion styles, until he gave up in the eighties. Everybody has a limit. 

6 He actually knew exactly where they were stored.]

Crowley turned to him, mouth open, about to argue, but instead he just squinted and mumbled, “Okay. What do you want in exchange for them?”

“Oh, I’m afraid you couldn’t afford it. But I’ll think about it.”

The demon looked back at the television and observed wryly, “At least, one of us has changed his look since the fifties.”

“Only one of us _had to,”_ replied Aziraphale, tongue-in-cheek.

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Crowley’s attempt to glare at him being ruined by the chuckle the demon was unable to restrain.

Ah, Crowley’s laugh! Not his too high-pitched giggle that invariably revealed more than concealed his nervousness, but his genuine laugh when he was feeling good and comfortable. That one never failed to arouse a sweet warmth within Aziraphale’s chest.

“That’s a bunch of memories,” said Crowley softly.

Aziraphale caught his fond glance. He cherished that his friend had ceased to wear his sunglasses when they were alone together, as Crowley’s beautiful eyes always expressed what he was reluctant to say.

Not that Aziraphale was very effusive himself. In his opinion, 6000 years together exempted one from saying obvious things out loud. But he could, for once.

“Thank you, dear.” Not so obvious, by Crowley’s disconcerted look. “For always being around,” clarified Aziraphale. The demon’s furtive surprised and delighted smile took him aback. All right, he wasn’t as eager for company as Crowley, but he could hardly imagine his life on Earth without him and he’d thought his friend knew it.

“Likewise,” replied Crowley with his eternally mock apathetic tone.

“They’ve set Adam’s birth in 2007,” pointed Aziraphale, to avoid dwelling on Crowley’s smile. “Oh, listen, Queen! I’m glad they – Dear? Are you _crying?”_

“M’not.” Crowley furtively wiped a tear. Oh, surely, the poor boy was emotional because of Aziraphale’s token of affection. Aw, it was so… Hang on. No. Crowley was actually lovingly watching the (other) Bentley like a parent would be gazing at their child during their first school play. Aziraphale raised an eyebrow. He didn’t know if he had to feel relieved or offended that Crowley’s emotion had nothing to do with what he’d said.7

[7 Let’s say he was 30% relieved and 70% offended.]

Hastur and Ligur’s appearance brought Aziraphale’s attention back to the screen. “Do they really look so funny?”8

[8 He should have used a past tense about Ligur, who presumably looked now like nothing but a handful of mashed slugs (and certainly not a funny one) on the old carpet Crowley had sent God knows where. But Aziraphale had always had trouble reminding himself that Crowley had once killed someone for real.]

“No. In real life, they look like assholes.9 You have no idea what’s like to work with such jerks.”

[9 As for Crowley, he didn’t like to remember that incident.]

“Don’t even get me started on Gabriel.”

“And them!” Crowley accusingly gestured toward the television as the nuns misplaced the Antichrist a few minutes later. “Must I do everything myself?”

“Aren’t you the one who invented subcontracting? As I always say, evil contains the seeds of its own-“

“I know the adage, thank you very much. And I reiterate: mere incompetence.”

“It was for the best anyway. Incompetence – if you insist – saved the world.”

“You should have that printed on a t-shirt.”

“Oh, look! The third baby! We’ve always wondered if they…”

Crowley looked like it had taken a load off his mind. “The Johnsons… Does that ring any bells?” Aziraphale shook his head. The flames from the burning convent illuminated Hastur’s satisfied smile.10 “Told you it was him! What an idiot.”

[10 If Crowley had a tendency towards pilfering, pyromania was unquestionably Hastur’s thing. Everyone has their little hobby.]

Anathema’s childhood was interesting.11 And, as a child, Newton was… Newton, only smaller. They were cute. At least, Aziraphale wanted to think “cute” but “weird” won the battle. Weirder than the average child, that is.12 Although he felt affinity with Anathema, who had a proper vocabulary and her nose always in The Book.

[11 Mostly because Aziraphale could learn more about _The Nice and Accurate Prophecies_ and about Agnes Nutter, if he had to be honest with himself. Which he wasn’t very often. 

12 According to what he had read about children.]

 

And then, he saw the bookshop, where Riz Ahmed was trying to convince Richard Ayoade to disobey and counter the Divine Plan. It was like watching a half-accurate portrait of oneself. He could recognise some features – the dirty window and the narrowly-spaced bookshelves, bowed under the weight of countless books13 – but the whole representation gave a sense of incongruity.

[13 Figure of speech. There were exactly 58,497 books in the bookshop.]

He didn’t like the way their conversation was recounted, either.

First, they were both utterly ridiculous. Admittedly, they’d had a few glasses of wine and he couldn’t remember their discussion in detail but he certainly hadn’t said such nonsense.14 He was about to ask about Crowley’s memories but the demon looked as sceptical and ashamed as himself.

[14 A bird in a space ship? Really.]

Besides, his character looked like a dupe the demon had easily led around by the nose. That was not how it had happened. Only idiots don’t change their mind when confronted by relevant arguments. Implying it was by being manipulated was acting in bad faith.

And speaking of Crowley’s arguments! Aziraphale was depicted as a self-righteous angel who’d agreed to save the world only for his own interests – and frivolous reasons like sushi and snuffboxes, on top of that! Granted, they’d had a little part in his decision. But he had also, of course, had more noble motives. Like people and…pfff… a plethora of other altruistic reasons.15 As if Crowley was the only one genuinely concerned about Earth!

[15 He could perfectly provide them if he wasn’t distracted by this absurd series.]

No, really, he was shamefully and unfairly portrayed! And Crowley should have the good grace to look scandalised.

Surprise tempered his outrage when he noticed that, in the show, he and Crowley in person had applied to work for the Cultural Attaché. Ha! This proved him right: the script had taken liberties with the truth. Like they would do that themselves. They’d had more essential tasks to carry out.16 That’s what subordinates are for.

[16 Like reading for the 62nd time “The Importance of Being Earnest” while awaiting the next _business meeting_ with one’s associate.]

Now Crowley huffed indignantly at the screen. “And why would you be the gardener, mmh? You can barely water a plant.”

“Because you’re better than I am with children.”17

[17 His angelic patience ran out amazingly fast when confronted to those little noisy creatures who put their dirty hands on everything – including books.]

It was a heartwarming scene, indeed. Aziraphale, his bitterness temporarily assuaged, found himself looking fondly at Crowley-the-nurse singing a lullaby to Warlock. They should have considered applying, in retrospect. Not to mention Crowley had always looked good in skirts.

It was only a short respite, though. Those scenes were interspersed with Adam growing up and playing with Pepper, Brian and Wensleydale, as if to underline how stupid he and Crowley were, busily taking care of the wrong child.

“Anyone would’ve made the same mistake,” growled Crowley, seemingly following the same train of thought.

 

Warlock’s eleventh birthday took the cake.18 Aziraphale couldn’t deny that his performance had been less successful than expected, but there was no need to make a fool of him like that. The angel gave a sideways glance to Crowley, expecting him to be snickering. It was even worse. The demon was sinking into the couch, carefully avoiding eye contact, a painfully embarrassed air across his face, obviously dying for the scene to be over. A shared feeling.

[18 Not literally, unlike Aziraphale’s face and coat that day.]

They could have highlighted how Aziraphale had saved Crowley from the bullet but no, no, instead they had chosen to show how oblivious the angel, covered with cream, had been to the dead dove, and how it was the demon who’d brought the bird back to life.

Fine. Crowley was going to be shown in the better light all through the series. Wonderful.


	3. Episode 2

Crowley had waited for the first episode like a child does for their Christmas present. But, once unwrapped, the gift had been slightly disappointing. Riz Ahmed hadn’t looked as cool as anticipated. And his outfits had been a dirty trick.1 Though, it could have been far worse, he reminded himself as he opened the door to Aziraphale, who was already making a face. Balance is all well and good but Crowley would rather not be exposed in that way. How could he have let his enthusiasm for the series stifle his good old paranoia? The memory of the Antichrist reading his entire life history at first sight made him shudder. This time, it wasn’t a beribboned box he was expecting, but a potentially incriminating report card.

[1 He was plotting something seriously demonic against the costume designer. Like sending them an angry email.]

The episode opened with the Them. How were Adam’s friends reacting to the programme? Had he forewarned them?

They were playing with Dog – the short-legged sausage that the fierce hellhound had become before their eyes last week.2 Their joyful games contrasted with the menacing appearance of the Horsepersons, introduced one by one. One glance at Pollution was enough to feel the urge to take a shower. Famine looked a little more approachable,3 unlike War, who was positively spooky.4 They were all busy, born from human minds and doing more harm than Hell could ever do, waiting for their big scene.

[2 The transformation was meant to be funny. It wasn’t, if you considered the extent of Adam’s power. And Crowley had been considering it very carefully since the first time his gaze had met Adam’s. 

3 A thought Crowley kept for himself in front of Aziraphale, who wholeheartedly detested the businessman – as much as an angel is capable of such a feeling. Crowley had once asked why, and the angel had mumbled something about tricking with food. Crowley could swear he had added, “Some things are sacred”. 

4 Crowley didn’t say things like “This feels spooky”, but he thought them.]

 

That was twenty solid minutes of show with no sight of Riz Ahmed or Richard Ayoade, and Crowley was torn between disappointment and relief.

They eventually appeared, on their way to search for the proper Antichrist, and Crowley immediately regretted it when Richard said, “There seems to be this great sense of love. I can't put it any better than that. Especially not to you.”

Crowley wasn’t exactly keen to remember how hard he’d tried to cling to the thought he had no heart when _something_ had tightened in his chest. He’d hoped Aziraphale would have known him better. He’d been on the verge of saying that he could feel it too – like he could always feel Aziraphale’s love for God’s creation 5 \- when Anathema had hit the Bentley. A blessing, really. It had given him time to realise it would have been a mistake. He might as well get a tattoo proclaiming “I’m not a proper demon” on his forehead. And if he had to say it out loud for Aziraphale to know it, what was the point? Better to leave the angel indulging in his beloved clichés.

[5 Almost imperceptible when a customer crossed the doorstep of the bookshop, but still present.]

Out of the corner of his eye, Crowley was scrutinising Aziraphale who frowned, squirmed on the couch and opened his mouth. Was he about to ask what Crowley had nearly said before the accident? Maybe now he could answer honestly. Who still cared if he was a proper demon? Why did he still pretend to conform to that role? _Can’t sense a thing._ Surely, Aziraphale wasn’t fooled by it anymore. Not after everything they’d been through together. _I’ll have known, deep down inside…_ It was only an old habit. Their dynamic for so long. He could break it.

But it was comfortable. Reassuring. Their relationship was built on that routine.

Thankfully, Aziraphale didn’t say anything and busied himself with a thorough inspection of his nails, sneering when Richard argued that tartan was stylish.

“Oh, I see. That’s why he’s been wearing tartan clothes from the beginning. As if I wear tartan every day! Really, one can’t make a trivial comment _once_ without it leading to an undue generalisation!”

Crowley pointedly looked at Aziraphale’s tartan jumper.

“Sheer coincidence,” grumbled the angel, crossing his arms.

Geez, he was in a foul mood. Better walk on eggshells.

“And I wonder why Anathema thought we were a couple,” Aziraphale muttered at Ruth Negga’s amused remark after she’d been dropped off in front of Jasmine Cottage.

He sounded genuinely surprised. But _everybody_ thought they were a couple. So he’d really never taken notice of the waiters’ whispers in restaurants? Crowley had just always assumed that, like him, Aziraphale wasn’t willing to broach the subject.

There was something hurtful in the way he’d said it, wasn’t there? Crowley replayed the sentence in his head. Yes. A “That is such a ludicrous idea” under his intonation. Pretty sure. One might not be interested, but it was still offensive. Angels’ sensitivity? Bullshit!

Great, now the angel’s bad mood had infected him.

Aziraphale’s “Tut tut” when Riz Ahmed changed the paint guns into real ones, and his smug air when Richard Ayoade admonished him not to let anybody be killed6 couldn’t have come at a worse time. Some eggshells were going to be trampled.

[6 Crowley had already made sure of that. He wasn’t a serial killer or something. Angels were unable to savour a good prank.]

“Remind me who wanted to kill a child, again?”

He shouldn’t have. It was a low blow. He didn’t dare glance at Aziraphale,7 who remained quiet. Pouting, probably.

[7 And he did well. If looks could kill, Aziraphale and Anathema could have competed for the “most lethal glare” award.]

They watched their interrogation of Sister Mary in tense silence. Crowley was unable to handle it. He was about to apologise when Richard’s nit-picking about _occult_ and _ethereal_ made him cringe. Maybe not, after all.

“We’ll be in touch then, shall we?” Richard Ayoade entered the bookshop with Anathema’s book. The door slammed in Riz Ahmed’s face.

“Wildly exaggerated!” exclaimed Aziraphale. “I wasn’t so-“ He abruptly cut himself off.

Riz Ahmed was a terrific actor. Even with his sunglasses, he succeeded in making the face of the saddest puppy in the world.8

[8 The kind they show you in TV spots to push you into adopting a dog that has been left on the roadside before summer holidays.]

The real Crowley barely refrained from whining. For some obscure reason, Adam had decided to publicly humiliate them, and now it was his turn.

“Poetic licence!” he grunted hastily. “I was fine. I had to take care of my plants anyway.” Was Aziraphale, staring at War unpacking a sword, even paying attention? “Tell me you…” _don’t believe this,_ Crowley wanted to continue.

But the angel didn’t let him say another word and turned to him, exasperated. “I already told you it wasn’t mine.”

“I just…”

“Really, I’d have recognised it!”

“But…”

“There’s no _but._ It must… it was another flaming sword. Cherubims misplace them all the time.” Aziraphale looked very uncomfortable. Crowley didn’t know if it was or wasn’t his sword, and he suspected his friend didn’t know either. He shrugged.

An “If you say so” almost passed his lips, but he’d been mean enough already9 and he’d rather avoid adding fuel to the fire.10 “I’m sure you’re right. It was another sword.”

[9 Plus he hadn’t been discorporated for a while and he didn’t miss it. 

10 Whereas it was Hastur’s guilty pleasure.]

It wasn’t enough to soothe Aziraphale who left quickly and rather coldly after the closing credits. He walked through the hallway and took the lift without looking back. The demon sighed. How things could have gotten so messy?

 

The next few days, Aziraphale’s answers to Crowley’s texts took longer than usual and were atypically succinct. Maybe he just had his nose buried in a captivating book, but Crowley knew him well enough to suspect he was sulking. The demon should have phoned or gone to the bookshop so they could talk about it, he knew, but why did _he_ have to make the first move? Aziraphale was being unfair. Obviously, he didn’t like the way he was being depicted in the series, but it wasn’t like Crowley had written the script, right?

Yeah, the angel was acting like a prick. Again. _Especially not to you._ Fuck, Crowley didn’t want to feel that way. He couldn’t really blame him. Angels were programmed to regard themselves as the Good Guys, untarnished and righteous, always on the straight and narrow, whilst demons were failures who had disappointed their Father and therefore had lost the ability to do Right and feel Love. Questioning the order of things was distressful to them. If they weren’t better than their fallen brothers, where was divine justice? Or were they slowly leading themselves astray, on the verge of falling as well? Nobody wants to see themself as a failure. Crowley knew that firsthand. And Aziraphale had always done his best to be more open-minded than his fellow angels, claiming there was a spark of goodness in Crowley 11 and offering him his friendship. Really, the demon could hardly ask for more.

[11 If only he could just have not claimed it so loudly.]

_Sure, Crowley, we could think of a solution to prevent the Apocalypse together. And even if we fail, we’ll have spent our last hours on Earth in each other’s company. But I’d rather read that book in peace so, if you don’t mind, go away. Have fun with your anxiety. Alone._ Ah, that bloody series was bringing up too many things he didn’t want to remember!

The Internet could be a welcome distraction. Before he realised it was a bad idea, he was browsing forums about the TV series.

It must have been a joke. A troll. An isolated occurrence, at least. Several webpages later, he had to face the facts: admittedly, his character was popular but he was described as “a cinnamon roll”, “an adorable nerd”, even “a poor marshmallow”. People found him “cute”. _Cute._ Baby animals were cute. Demons were hot, sexy, dark. Frightening, if nothing else. Anything but cute. What was wrong with them? Weren’t they supposed to fear demons?

In contrast, Aziraphale’s performance at the birthday party was still a laughingstock and his behaviour toward the demon was harshly criticised. Crowley used multiple aliases to post fiery replies to the morons who’d had the audacity to call his angel a bastard – he was the only one entitled to do so.12 Then he turned off his computer, for the sake of his self-esteem.13

[12 And making a mess of forums was a proper demonic activity. 

13 Thereby missing the posts declaring he and Aziraphale were probably married.] 

 

He spent the rest of the week checking his phone. What was Aziraphale doing now? More than once, he’d put his coat on with the intention of heading to the bookshop. Each time, he’d eventually taken it off and sat on the couch, pondering the relevance of watching the next episode and, above all, assessing the probabilities he would have to watch it alone.


	4. Episode 3

Aziraphale cleared his throat, shifting his weight from one foot to the other, in front of the door to Crowley’s flat. Eventually, he took a deep breath and knocked.

“You’re early,” pointed out the demon, all neutral face and tone.

“Crowley, I owe you apologies,” quickly delivered Aziraphale.

“You bet! You have no reason to be mad at me! I-“

“Mad at you? Oh, dear boy, I’m only angry with myself. Would you please sit down? I must talk to you.”

He was ashamed he’d needed a whole week to process what the series had exposed to him. His character’s obnoxious behavior toward Crowley was an unsettling mirror. First, he had blamed that slanderous reflection. Why had Adam, or that Neil Gaiman if he’d extrapolated from the initial outline, depicted him so negatively? He may have been a little tactless at times, due to the stressful imminence of the Apocalypse, but his reactions were hugely exaggerated and surely Crowley hadn’t… Then Aziraphale had glanced at his friend, whose expression had been a slap in the face. His eyes fixed on Riz Ahmed, so lonely outside the bookshop, Crowley had tried to keep an indifferent air, betrayed by his pallor and his lips pressed together.

Goodness, the end of the world was just around the corner and the solution was probably in _The Nice and Accurate Prophecies._ That was more urgent than cosseting Crowley. Aziraphale had only been being _pragmatic._ Anyway, it had been thirty years ago. What was the point of bringing that up?

He’d tried to take his mind off it all week, but he couldn’t get rid of the image of Crowley with the same sad face as Riz Ahmed, standing on the pavement in front of the bookshop. Maybe it hadn’t even been the first time. Maybe he’d looked that way every time Aziraphale had said it was getting late, so the demon would let him enjoy a good book alone.

No, Crowley had said he was fine. _Yes, like he was fine during the plague or the Spanish inquisition,_ an annoying little voice had argued in Aziraphale’s head. 1 Clinging to what Crowley had pretended to avoid apologising would be cowardice at its finest. And Aziraphale was many things, but he wasn’t a coward.2

[1 Sometimes it succeeded in taking its gag off and escaping from the locked closet whose door had a discreet sign saying _denial._

2 He could face anything the moment he could no longer hide it in said closet.]

“I’m sorry. I’ve been a complete bastard,” he said once they were seated on the couch. “Last week, and when I’d said you couldn’t understand what love is, and when I left you alone before the Apocalypse, and probably plenty of other times of which I’m not even aware.”

Crowley looked astounded. “Wow. Angel, are you okay? I mean, you never-“

“I know.3 And I should have, a long time ago.”

[3 Mind you, he hadn’t apologised to God Himself for giving his sword away. Or for lying about it. Or for thwarting the Apocalypse. And Hell would freeze over before Gabriel would hear apologies from Aziraphale.]

“It’s okay,” said Crowley softly.

“No. No, it’s not. Let me finish, please. About what I said, in the car… It was easier for me, to think you couldn’t… But later, I felt it. Your love. When you decided to fight Satan with me. I felt how much you love the Earth and humans. And since then… I can feel it all the time. I guess I couldn’t before because I wanted to believe I was better than you. It was so… _I_ was so stupid. And I should have told you all this earlier. I’m really sorry.” Crowley sat very still, intently staring at him. “Will you forgive me?”

“Gosh, angel…” Crowley briefly looked away. “I’d like to tell you that I already had, but I recently realised I needed to hear it from you. Of course, I forgive you.”

Aziraphale suspected that some angels wouldn’t have been so lenient.4 “And I’m sorry for the times I implied I wanted you to leave the bookshop.”

[4 Gabriel, for a start.]

“Don’t worry about that. I understand you need alone time.”

“Thank you, dear.” Crowley’s sincere expression was a relief. Aziraphale refrained from hugging his amazing demon, not knowing how he would react. “I… erm… think it’s time.”

“Uh?”

“The series. Or you’ll miss the beginning.”

“Oh, right.”

 

Aziraphale felt both lighter and drained. He realised how tense he’d been all week and finally relaxed, getting more comfortable on the couch as Crowley turned the television on. Famine coming into possession of the small pair of brass scales didn’t succeed in spoiling his restored cheerfulness. Nor did a hint of guilt over Anathema mourning the loss of her book while he was reading it in front of his cold cocoa. Obviously, when one owns a book of such value, they must take care not to leave it in a stranger’s car.

More interesting were the children’s make-believe play, the magazines and conversations with Anathema that had influenced Adam. Mix supernatural powers with kids’ imaginations, a hippy witch and a New Age tabloid, and you get a planet hollowed out by Tibetans and teeming with aliens and Atlanteans.

Trees began to sprout everywhere, and Crowley’s smile, initiated by the Them’s play,5 turned dreamy. Then amused - with a hint of… sadness? nostalgia? Why? - when Shadwell appeared on screen, answering the angel’s phone call.

[5 The real Spanish inquisition wasn’t as funny. Or at least, it depended on which side of the branding iron one was.]

“A disciplined force, heh?”

Aziraphale snorted. “Ha! You didn’t lie when you said your agents weren’t very sophisticated.” Shadwell scratched his ass through his dirty trousers, drinking from a tin of condensed milk. “And not only politically speaking.”

“That guy was priceless.”

“Was?”

“He died, last year.”

“Oh.” Well, it wasn’t surprising. He was already old thirty years ago. Just one more human they had known who’d passed away. And not even one to whom they were close. Adam hadn’t erased human beings’ memories; he had just blurred them, so Aziraphale and Crowley hadn’t dared stay in touch with those who’d seen them with their wings, in case meeting them would clear that fog. Though they had kept an eye on them, from afar.6 They hadn’t checked on Madame Tracy and Shadwell recently, and Aziraphale suddenly regretted it. “How do you know that?”

[6 They were curious about what would become of those who had foiled the Apocalypse with them. Aziraphale had a special interest in Anathema’s descendants (would they inherit Agnes’s gift?), while Crowley checked on Pepper, Brian and Wensleydale (he was quite fond of those kids). In case you’re curious too… Anathema and Newt had a daughter – nine months after the Almost-Apocalypse - who’d had a daughter in turn. Rose was currently five, and had a certain tendency to make enigmatic comments. Brian had become a field reporter for a newspaper specialising in unexplained phenomena, like UFO sightings and witchy rituals – the kind of newspaper Newt had gone through each morning when working for Shadwell. Wensleydale had been dutifully working for twelve years as a clerk, then a notary. One day, when settling an estate, he’d met a charming oceanographer who was about to go work in Nova Scotia. He’d dropped everything without regret to follow him. As far as Crowley and Aziraphale knew, they were perfectly happy. Pepper was an activist, involved in so many causes it’s impossible to list them here. She and Adam had two sons and a daughter – and it was indeed a two-boy job to stand up to her. As for Adam, he worked at home, in Tadfield, as an author of children’s books. His terrific stories and creative illustrations, filled with singing whales, impenetrable forests and undersea kingdoms, never failed to make his readers’ eyes sparkle and to show them that the Earth is an amazing place. And when he was tired of writing, he went for long walks in the countryside with Dog – whose longevity was remarkable – with a stick to throw for him and poke at interesting things.]

“Did some internet research last week, since I had… erm… nothing else to do.”

“It’s odd. He was everything that I’m against, I was discorporated and soundly rebuffed by Gabriel because of him, he set fire to my bookshop, and yet, I couldn’t help but like him. And not because I’m an angel.”

“I see your point. I guess he had that effect on everyone.”

“He must have hated being liked.”

“Definitely.”

“Did you find something about Madame Tracy? Is she…?”

“She’s alive.”

“Does she still live in their bungalow?”

“No. It was hard to track her down. I saw on her nephew’s Facebook that she’s in a retirement home.” Crowley hesitated then added, “She seems to… get more and more confused.”

A word floated in the air, but neither of them said it.

Aziraphale sombrely took in that information as, in the series, Pollution was given his crown. “So there’s very little chance she would recognise me, if I went see her?” he asked slowly. He hazily noticed Death on screen.

“Probably not.” Death put their hand on the delivery man’s shoulder. “Wanna go tomorrow? I’ll drive you. If you want. And say hello.”

“Yes. Yes, thank you, dear.”

The poor man collapsed.

“Wait.” Aziraphale searched his memory. “There was a delivery man at the air base. I gave him the sword. He said something about his wife too, didn’t he?”

“Possibly. I wasn’t exactly in condition to pay attention. So what? Do you think it was the same guy?”

“Adam may have fixed that too. Resurrected him.”

“Never thought about- Oh shit!” Crowley gasped.

“What?”

“Ligur! What if…?”

“Oh, my!”

“Ohshitohshitohshit.”

“It’s okay, it’s okay. Don’t panic.”

“I’m not panicking,” Crowley retorted with difficulty, hyperventilating.

“Listen, it’s been a long time.” Aziraphale materialised a paper bag, keeping to himself that the demon didn’t _need_ to breathe, and handed it to Crowley. “If he intended to take revenge on you, he’d already have. And you’re under Adam’s protection, anyway. Perhaps he even made him and Hastur forget about that.”

Crowley calmed down a little as he breathed into the bag. “Yes. Yes. You’re right. Yes. No reason he’d come now.”

“We’ll ask Adam when he comes back, to be sure. You can come live over the bookshop if it makes you feel safer.” The proposition had passed his lips before he remembered there was not much room upstairs. So, when Crowley embarrassingly declined, he convinced himself it was for the best.

“Thanks but I’m fine.” Crowley sat up straight, frowned at the paper bag and crumpled it with poorly faked confidence.7 “Ha! They can come anytime. You renewed my stock of holy water. I killed him once, I can do it again.” He tossed the wadded bag vehemently toward the bin.

[7 As if Aziraphale could miss that he had just, with a discreet – and shaky – gesture, put on the door so many sigils against demons that he had trapped himself inside for weeks. The angel made a mental note to adjust them on his way out.]

“I’m sure, dear. Although, _if_ Ligur’s alive, technically, you didn’t kill anyone after all.”

Crowley was still on edge, but an unexpected relieved expression crossed his face. The demon made a show of nonchalantly commenting through the last part of the episode. For once, it did Aziraphale justice, by showing how he had cleverly located the Antichrist. Aziraphale tried his hardest not to appear too complacent – Pride is one of the Deadly Sins8 \- especially when his friend said under his breath, “Well done, angel”.

[8 Please admire his capacity to not acknowledge he had already largely indulged in all of them – with the notable exception of lust.]

Meanwhile, the fictional-but-not-that-much Crowley phoned his network of agents in turn. Madame Tracy picked up.

“I’ll tell Mister Shadwell you called, love. What’s your name?... Sorry, I misheard your initial… Ah… for?...”

_“James?”_ exclaimed Aziraphale, shocked. “When you added an initial to your name, you told me it was only because it sounded _cool_ and it stood for nothing! But you _did_ pick a name, obviously!” Crowley looked embarrassed. “And why _James?”_

“Er. Dunno. Sounds British. That’s all.”

“Really? Then why are you blushing?” A sudden thought stuck the angel. “Oooh. I know. It’s because of James Bond!” This was hilarious and endearing at the same time.

“Haha, of course not, it’d be-“

“Yes, I’m sure of it.” Aziraphale couldn’t help laughing.

“I just told you-“

“There’s what you say, and there’s the way you say it. I know I’m right.” His laugh stopped short. It wasn’t funny, all things considered. “Why, pray tell, do I learn this from a television programme?”

“Because I was sure you’d laugh at me,” sulkily replied Crowley, turning the television off now that the episode was over.

Aziraphale let out a sheepish little “Oh.” He cringed. “I… just did it again, didn’t I? Hurting your feelings. I’m sorry. Really. I think James is a good choice, actually.” He smiled apologetically. “Anthony James Crowley,” he articulated, as to taste the name. “It suits you.”

“Mmh.” A wry smile replaced Crowley’s offended air. “Thanks. And… angel… I honestly appreciate that you apologised earlier. But don’t make a habit of it. You know I like that you’re _just enough_ of a bastard.”


	5. Episode 4

The first thing Crowley noticed when he opened the door was Aziraphale’s new shirt.1 Its colour was just a shade darker than his eyes, making them appear even lighter blue, which was no mean feat.

[1 Aziraphale’s fits of shopping were as rare as excruciatingly expensive. Both characteristics explained why he still wore clothes from the 19th century more than occasionally.]

“Erm… may I come in?”

“Oh. Yeah. Sure.”

Crowley awkwardly stepped aside, and Aziraphale brushed past him to enter the flat. The angel frowned and stared at him.

“You… sprayed yourself with cologne?”

“No!” This was the dumbest answer ever. It was obvious he had, without being really aware of doing it. The kind of nonsense one does after several sleepless nights of tossing and turning in bed – partly because he was listening for noises outside the flat door, partly because he couldn’t stop brooding over his old, obsessive questions about his role in the Ineffable Plan. Not to mention something unnerving he couldn’t identify.

Crowley hesitated over miracling the scent away, because that would’ve only made things weirder. “Yes. Maybe. So what if I did?” One of these days, he would have to figure out how his mouth was able to utter such rubbish lines before his brain could prevent it.2

[2 Probably because his brain was busy screaming and running in circles in panic.]

Aziraphale gave him a puzzled look. “Nothing. You just… don’t usually.”

“Hurry up. You’re late. It’ll start at any moment.”

The theme song saved Crowley from any further comment.

 

The episode opened with Newt realising that Tadfield was worth investigating. He was less daft than he looked. Crowley snickered at the Wasabi. Hastur and Ligur’s fake vehicle, with its detached wheels, had been more credible than that Japanese tin can. No wonder it had crashed. Especially with Anathema nearby. That girl should never be allowed to get close to any car.3

[3 Though, as far as Crowley knew, _she_ had never added any luggage rack with tartan straps to an innocent, defenceless car.]

Not that Newt had anything to complain about, given the turn of events. Aziraphale promptly covered his eyes.

“C’mon, angel. We’ve seen films with more graphic scenes. And you live in _Soho!”_

“We _know_ them. It’s embarrassing.”

“These are actors, you know.”

“Just tell me when it’s ov-“

“It’s over.”

“Already?”4

“Heh.”

[4 No need to be an expert to understand that wasn’t saying much for Newt.]

As Adam’s powers were rising (“See. I was right about the Kraken,” Aziraphale pointed out), Richard Ayoade contacted Heaven. Aziraphale ceased his gloating.

“I wanted to tell you first, you know. But I hoped…”

“I know.”

Crowley’s reassuring tone didn’t entirely wipe away Aziraphale’s regretful air.

“I’m-”

“Don’t you dare apologise again!” warned Crowley mockingly.

He congratulated himself as Aziraphale relaxed and smiled back at him. Crowley couldn’t remember if, in Heaven, other angels’ smiles had given him that same feeling of being bathed in sunshine. Maybe it had something to do with the way Aziraphale’s smiles made his eyes sparkle and their corners wrinkle.

Crowley forced himself to look back at the screen. Richard Ayoade was shamelessly lying to the Metatron to stay a bit longer on Earth.

“What a douchebag! To think they demoted you…”

"Indirectly because of a certain Serpent, as I recall,” teased Aziraphale. “I can’t say I took it well at first…”

“You don’t say! You sulked for at least your first five centuries on Earth.”

“…but it’s actually the best thing that ever happened to me. Or I’d be stuck in Heaven, listening to Elgar. In other words, bored to death.”

“You should show some gratitude to a certain Serpent.”

Aziraphale flashed a wry smile. “Remind me to send you a thank-you card. To get back to the Metatron, they are indeed insufferable.”

“I remember no angel liked them.”5

[5 A lot of angels didn’t like Aziraphale either, but that was not the point.]

_“We_ speak for Him so you must listen to _us_ and do whatever _we_ say.” The perfect imitation made Crowley snigger. “Behind their back, everybody calls them _the boss’s pet.”_ 6

[6 At best.]

In his flat, Riz Ahmed was threatening his houseplants in attempt to calm his nerves. Crowley winced. It was an invasion of privacy, for Someone’s sake! Forums were going to have a field day with this.

“Honestly, dear, I should tell them what _really_ happens to those you-“

“Ssssshhhhh!” Crowley nervously glanced at his plants. Luckily, they didn’t seem to have heard.

 

The soundtrack turned nerve-racking as Hastur and Ligur approached the demon’s flat.

“I wish I’d been there,” growled Aziraphale.

Crowley felt almost glad for Hastur and Ligur he hadn’t been.7

[7 Hastur had called _Crowley_ a bastard? Ha! He’d never dealt with Aziraphale.]

Did Riz really have to overact and look so scared stiff when setting the holy water trap? Okay, it had been slightly stressful,8 but Crowley was proud to have kept an admirable control over his nerves. A cool, bold and suave hero, able to maintain composure even in the worst… He jumped when Aziraphale grasped his hand on the couch. Crowley stared at their hands together, struggling against an attack of tachycardia,9 then eventually pulled himself together enough to dare look up. The angel’s gaze was worriedly focused on the screen.

[8 Crowley should equip himself with something more secure than PVC gloves, he suddenly thought, in case Ligur was alive and found a way to have _a word_ with him. One of those hazmat suits humans used in nuclear power stations, perhaps? 

9 “No heart” repeated like a mantra proved to be extremely ineffective.]

“Angel, I told you what happened. Plus, you know I’ll be all right…” Crowley giggled. Too piercingly. Damn. He should really work on that.

Aziraphale kept watching the scene, without releasing his grip on Crowley’s hand.

The demon was still trying to keep his face from burning when Ligur melted on the floor. And when Hastur didn’t buy Riz’s bluff with the plant mister (“Nice try, dear”). And when the duke bought his second bluff with the phone call (“I _know_ what an answering machine is! Or a voicemail, since they modernised the story. I was under pressure!”). During the chase through the radio waves, Aziraphale’s nails dug into the demon’s skin, so hard that it hurt. Although, Crowley didn’t feel relieved when Aziraphale released his hand, once Hastur got trapped in his voicemail. Quite the opposite, in fact.

He had a _valid_ reason to feel disappointed. James Bond would have looked way more confident when defeating his enemies. And his weapon would have been classier than a plant mister. Crowley sighed.

“Oh, my dear boy! You were amazing! Suck on that, Bond!” exclaimed Aziraphale. “Erm. If I may say so.”

Elated, Crowley straightened his back and grinned.

 

In the meantime, Shadwell had made his way to the bookshop.

“So, what’s it like being the one exorcised?” teased Crowley. This whole scene was funny as…

“Fuck”, said Richard Ayoade as he stepped into the circle, causing a flash of dazzling blue light.

“Ooh! Language, angel!”

The light softened.

“Ah, you’re finally here!” snapped Gabriel, tapping his foot. “Never been diligent in obeying, have you?”

Richard argued that he still had unfinished business on Earth and that he needed a new body immediately, but Gabriel cut him off. “Get your priorities straight, _principality._ The Earth is about to be destroyed. I got you a flaming sword. You better take care of it this time. Anyway, you don’t deserve a new body, considering how you treated your old one. You should have gone jogging regularly, you know, just like I do when I get a human body.”

Crowley was itching to punch that asshole. “I wish I’d been there!”10

[10 Bravery seems so easy when one’s watching a series or a film.]

“That’s very kind of you, dear, but I can look after myself.”

Richard’s endless tirade left both Gabriel and Crowley speechless, before he stormed out.

“You really… said _that…_ to _Gabriel?”_

“I may have gotten a little carried away,” conceded Aziraphale, with no trace of regret.11

[11 Actually, if you were looking for the definition of smugness, bingo, you just found it.]

“Angel… you’re the best!”

Aziraphale sighed theatrically. “Swear words are like cigarettes, I guess. Just one and you relapse.”

On Earth, Shadwell slamming the bookshop door made a candle fall over.

“So he didn’t cause it on purpose,” said Aziraphale. ”I’ve always thought he’d burned it to complete what he thought was an exorcism.”

Then he watched, with a pained air, as his Oscar Wilde first editions turned into ashes.

Crowley gave a sideways look to the angel’s hand, resting not far from him. Consolation wasn’t his strong point12 but… He vaguely patted the back of Aziraphale’s hand. Twice. Then he hastily repatriated his hand to the safety of his lap.

[12 It wasn’t exactly in the job description. But nothing listed in there was his strong point, either. Sadly, nobody had ever considered it pertinent to add “super-gluing coins to the sidewalk”.]

The Bentley braked with a screech of tires in front of the bookshop, almost running over a fireman. Riz Ahmed jumped out of the car and shouted, “This is my friend’s shop!”

The programme abruptly paused on his face ridiculously stuck in the middle of a distressed expression. Crowley needed a few seconds to understand that Aziraphale had done it. The angel, his hand suspended in the gesture he’d made toward the screen, was gaping at him.

“Did you really say that? Out loud? In front of people?”

There was so much expectation in his astonished gaze… Crowley heard himself immediately mutter, “I don’t remember.”

A reflex. Admitting he was capable of feelings such as friendship in front of other demons would have been like painting a target on his back. Hide, lie, pretend, and everything will be okay.13

[13 He strongly suspected he wasn’t the only one, though. But it was like belonging to a covert network where one didn’t know who was an enemy or colleague undercover as an enemy. You just don’t ask around, “Hey, so, you too…?” And sometimes, he was wondering, staring at the ceiling above his bed… what if _all_ demons felt pity, friendship, love, but none of them had ever dared say it, because common knowledge claimed it was impossible?]

Aziraphale’s budding smile withered.

A _stupid_ reflex. Crowley was safe with him. The angel had apologised for believing the demon was unable to feel love, but no wonder he’d thought so. He deserved better than this facade.

“Wait!” said Crowley in a rush to stop Aziraphale, on the verge of resuming the programme. “Yes.” The angel raised his eyebrows. “I did. Because… because I thought you were in there and…” His mouth went dry. Come on, he could do it. “… because you’re my friend. My best friend.” A statue would have been less frozen than Aziraphale. Since Crowley had begun, he might as well go all the way. “Listen, I… Sure, I like dolphins, and gorillas, and whatever that series asserts I’d said when I was drunk, but… if I wanted to save the Earth, it was also because… it’s the only place we can be together.”

Aziraphale let out something between a little gasp of surprise and a suppressed sob, if a sob can sound happy. His eyes were shining too much. Gosh. He wasn’t going to cry, was he?

“Goodness, Crowley,” he said softly. “Don’t do that to an angel without a warning. What have I told you about oversensitivity?”

He looked up, exhaling a long breath through his mouth, so as to hold back his tears. His eyes were dry but still glittering when he gazed into Crowley’s. He put a hand on Crowley’s knee – how could he always do such things so easily, and why the hell had the demon been given a corporation with this recurrent problem of inopportune flushing? - “I see no better reason for saving this planet… my friend.”

He was positively glowing, and his smile made Crowley all warm and fuzzy inside. His smile was… it was… was so…

“We could maybe… erm… watch the end?” suggested Aziraphale, turning to the screen.

Crowley blinked and, suddenly aware his mouth was hanging open, closed it and nodded.

Riz Ahmed started moving again and rushed into the bookshop. The realistic scene gave the impression of being surrounded by flames.

“I already knew you went in there – you alleged it was because you needed my help to fight Hastur,” said the angel affectionately. “But it’s a different thing to see it,” he finished, more seriously. A jet of water knocked Riz Ahmed to the ground. “Oh, dear.”

Crowley may have forgotten to mention that detail. He gave his soaked, anything-but-cool double a disillusioned look, then he shrugged. He’d just done something more courageous than entering a burning building. Suck on that, Bond.

“I’ve never been so happy that demons are fireproof,” said Aziraphale, as the episode ended with the Bentley racing away, quietly playing Queen’s _You’re my Best Friend._ 14 “Except in 1666, of course.”15

[14 So quietly that, at first, Crowley thought he was imagining it. Then he wondered if Adam himself had put it in the script because he’d foreseen the bookshop scene would make the demon open up to Aziraphale. Maybe the Antichrist was mischievously smiling somewhere in the world. Nah, Crowley eventually decided. That was getting a bit too paranoid, even for him. (He was wrong.) 

15 Crowley had gotten an unearned commendation for the Great Fire of London. A bonfire was a pleasant way of celebrating a year ending in 666, Satan had appreciated, and he’d cited Crowley as an example for several weeks. That year, the Metatron hadn’t been the only one regarded as _the boss’s pet_ (although Crowley’s nicknames were far more colourful).]

Yeah. Crowley was usually pleased with that ability, too. But not today. Because, if he’d been in danger in the bookshop, Aziraphale might have taken his hand again during the fire scene. And the demon wouldn’t have minded.


	6. Episode 5

Crowley’s increasingly worn-out look made obvious that he hadn’t gotten much sleep lately.1 Worrying about Ligur, probably. And Adam couldn’t be reached to confirm or deny if he had indeed resurrected the demon!

[1 You may think that, since the demon didn’t _need_ to sleep, Aziraphale wouldn’t understand how he could be tired. But the angel was familiar with the effects of getting accustomed to human habits, especially when living in the same body for a long time. He _needed_ to eat (at least) three times a day.]

Aziraphale did his best to cheer Crowley up. He pretended to find Richard Ayoade’s attempts to come back on Earth funny, although his speech through Marvin Bagman’s mouth embarrassed him a little. The man had written terrible songs,2 he was some kind of an extremist, and Aziraphale had been still worked up by his encounter with Gabriel, but if he’d been aware he’d been on television, he wouldn’t have encouraged people to give money to a Satanist hotline. Thankfully, that had been wiped from people’s memory.

[2 And he’d sung them so awfully off key that it had threatened to give Aziraphale a headache despite the fact he’d had no physical body.]

He’d been lucky to come across Madame Tracy. She had a real gift. She just didn’t know how to use it.

“Fortunately, it wasn’t the evening,” Crowley perfunctorily joked.3

[3 It was already unsettling enough to find your supposedly lost friend inside a woman without her wearing stilettos and a leather corset.]

This was no time to split hairs but _that_ kind of séance wouldn’t have opened a passage to the spiritual plane. 4

[4 Yet, it was rumoured that some particularly intense séances could be equated to spiritual experiences. It had tickled Aziraphale’s curiosity, but not enough to spur him to check it out himself, thank you very much.]

The scene shifted to War, Famine and Pollution gathered in a shabby café. Aziraphale found them oddly relatable, suddenly. Human-shape beings amongst humans, just doing their job, playing their part in the Ineffable Plan. He pensively looked at War. So determined. Like Eve when she’d taken his flaming sword, a protective hand on her belly.

The other Four Bikers of the Apocalypse were hilarious. Aziraphale could have enjoyed their lines, at any rate, if Crowley’s laugh hadn’t sounded forced.

Peering with concern at him from time to time, Aziraphale didn’t give more than a blasé look at Richard lying to convince Shadwell that killing an eleven-year-old kid was the right thing to do. The angel knew what it made him look like, and he didn’t expect people to understand the unquestionable rationality of his decision. One life for billions of them. Do the math.

In the meantime, someone else had found a way to get back in the game. Hastur. They knew he’d disappeared from Crowley’s ansaphone. They didn’t know _how._ The screams of a dozen telephone salespersons choked off one by one, followed by sickening chewing noises. Oh no. Crowley was in no condition to handle that.

He wrapped his knees in his arms. “I had no idea… I never wanted…”

“I know, my dear, I know. You shouldn’t worry about it. I’m sure Adam fixed that too.” Aziraphale had banished any doubt from his voice. He was a better liar than Crowley suspected.5

[5 It had been especially useful when they were enemies. The trick was to lie terribly badly on purpose about insignificant issues.]

Riz Ahmed on his way to Tadfield, sunglasses on, in the flaming Bentley playing _The Show Must Go On_ at full blast should certainly lift Crowley’s spirits, if Aziraphale knew the slightest about what was considered _cool._ Instead his friend’s features contorted like he was in physical pain.

Aziraphale hesitantly ran his hand over Crowley’s back. The demon quivered. He always seemed simultaneously in need of soothing physical contact and uncomfortable with it.

“Dear, are you sure you want to keep watching? I think this series isn’t doing you any good.”

Crowley shook his head. “Adam said we’re going to understand, at the end. Why did he say that? What are we supposed to understand? I’ve been thinking about it lately, you know.”

Too much, for sure. As usual. So it wasn’t Ligur, after all. Or not only. Aziraphale suppressed a sigh.

“And?”

“And… dunno. Maybe I’m finally gonna get some answers.”

“Answers to what?”

Crowley remained silent, transfixed by the screen.

One week. Just one week and the show would be over. Aziraphale would then ensure that any recording Crowley had certainly made would be _accidentally_ and irremediably erased, because there was not a single damn answer in that silly programme and Crowley would feel better if he could stop overanalysing every trivial word people said, even if they were the Antichrist himself.

Speaking of the (son of the) devil, the boy appeared, struggling more and more with his destiny. There. That was the turning point. Not later, at the air base. But when he’d chosen his friends over the unbridled power that was his birthright.

And that bit about the Johnsonites!6 _It’s not good anyone winning._ Balance. They were so perceptive. So clever. So much more than his side and Crowley’s. _Ex_ -sides. They were the same as Adam, now. They’d made their own side, that day, with all the humans, through those kids, and Anathema, and Newton, and Shadwell, and Madame Tracy.

[6 It finally rang a bell. Not a sect, after all. Just a gang of kids. Although one could certainly find some similarities.]

They’d all reached the air base now, the demon arriving last.7 The Bentley collapsing into pieces elicited a whine from Crowley.

[7 He’d been far slower than Aziraphale on Madame Tracy’s ridiculous put-putting scooter, but the angel diplomatically avoided highlighting it.]

“I know, I know. She’s all right,” he muttered before Aziraphale could say it.

The Four Horsemen were inside already, and they had to stop them. Everything was in place for the final act. Predictably, the episode ended there.8

[8 Complying with that nowadays inevitable cliffhanger. A concept pioneered by Charles Dickens and named from the protagonist left hanging off a cliff by Thomas Hardy at the end of an episode of “A pair of blue eyes”, which demonstrates once more than television hasn’t come up with anything that literature hadn’t invented already. This statement usually tended to make Crowley bring up game shows and reality TV, which led to a delightful evening of arguing.]

 

Crowley turned off the television but kept staring at the now black screen.

“Dear?” tried Aziraphale after a solid minute.

“Have you ever wondered if Adam made the right choice?” Crowley abruptly asked without turning his head.

“I don’t understand. Of course, he did. How can you doubt it? He saved the world.”

“Is it saved? Really? I mean… look around you. Is the world better since then?”

Ah. It was one of _those_ days.

“It would’ve been quite nice, on second thought,” resumed Crowley, a feverish look in his eye. “Doing the Earth a favour. Whales, forests as far as the eye can see… A new Eden.”

“That’s sleep deprivation talking. You know how it affects you. We both know it was Adam’s temptation, and what it would’ve led to if he hadn’t resisted. One deciding for everyone else. The end of free will. And ultimately, the Apocalypse. It would’ve left no trees. No whales. No people.”

“You said life would be better, once Heaven won.”

Aziraphale got a lump in his throat.

“Of all the awful things I’ve ever said to you, that one is the worst. It was propaganda and I needed to cling to it. But I was wrong. If Heaven _had_ won, you’d have been killed. How could life be better without you?”

Crowley smiled bitterly, as if he’d been expecting that argument.

“Think about it. Because I have. Without me, no original sin. No war, no famine, no disease or pollution. Humans could have eaten the fruit of the Tree of Life and Death wouldn’t have affected them. And Adam, the actual Adam, I mean… he could have done that.” Crowley’s voice became almost inaudible. “All he had to do was to arrange matters so that I’d never existed.” Aziraphale shuddered at that thought. “He _can._ I was terrified when I realised it. But sometimes… sometimes, when I’m watching the news, I think that maybe...“

“Don’t say it!” Aziraphale grasped Crowley’s arms and forced the demon to face him. “Don’t you dare even _think_ about it!” Crowley averted his eyes. “Anthony James Crowley, sometimes, I swear, you…” Aziraphale pinched his nose, took a deep breath and forced himself to cool off. He really wasn’t eager to speculate about the Ineffable Plan once more, but Crowley wasn’t leaving him a choice, and he had to think fast. “Listen. In Eden, you said it would’ve been funny if I’d done the bad thing and you, the good one. Have you ever considered we _both_ could have done the good one?” Crowley’s gaze, puzzled and attentive, returned to him. A good start. _“You_ gave them free will. _I_ gave them a way to survive.”

“And we can see every day what they choose to do with both of them,” retorted the demon sourly.

“My point,” Aziraphale said quickly. He was playing a tight game. “They choose. Sometimes they make the right choice, sometimes they don’t. Children can’t become adults if they never have the opportunity to decide for themselves. You gave them that opportunity.” Crowley looked unconvinced, but wavering. “Do you think I never have doubts? Do you think I’m not aware that War’s sword may have been mine? I’ll tell you: I think I’m now ready to face it. Fire can keep one safe and warm, or it can burn and destroy. It depends on what they choose to do with it.”

“Great. They’re burning their own house down, in case you haven’t noticed.”

Could it be possible to miraculously prevent television from ever showing the news again?

“They’re learning. That’s why Adam didn’t bring back the whales. Because humans have to face the consequences of their actions in order to make wiser choices. And it requires free will. See, they need you to exist. The Ineffable Plan needs you to exist.” Aziraphale needed him to exist.

“Wait. Are you telling me that Eve didn’t fail the test? That she passed it, instead?” Crowley said slowly.

For a conversation started only to comfort him, it had derived a surprisingly sensible theory.

“Well… what if it wasn’t a matter of obedience? They’d been arbitrarily told to stay away from knowledge. Was it better to mindlessly conform to that command, or to seek to understand?”

“We’ve seen more than enough of what happens when people obey orders without questioning them.”

“Exactly. And _you_ made her question them.” Aziraphale added quietly, “Like you did with me.”

“Let’s say she _did_ do what He expected. Then why throw them out? Something like, _Bye, kids, say goodbye to the comfort of Daddy’s house; you’re ready to live your life and make your own decisions, good luck?”_

“You never express that kind of thing like I would but… you can put it that way, I suppose. Children have to, sooner or later.” They thoughtfully stared into space for a while.

“Why the Apocalypse, then?” eventually asked Crowley. “What did He think? _It was a nice experiment, but all good things must come to an end?”_

Just when Aziraphale was beginning to think they were out of the woods.

“We can only guess,” he said cautiously, “that it didn’t go as planned thanks to-“

“Don’t you think He may have _planned_ that the Apocalypse could be avoided?” Crowley rattled out. “Maybe it was another test.”

 _He may… let’s say… maybe…_ One could get sick by trying to make sense out of ineffability. It was high time to stop Crowley before he made his way further to another of his nervous breakdowns.

“Then humans passed it once more,” Aziraphale asserted decisively. “They raised a child wise enough to _choose_ to decline absolute power. Test or not, what made the difference was free will. Your legacy, dear.”

Crowley seemed to dwell on it. He let out a deep sigh.

“A heavy responsibility upon the shoulders of an eleven-year-old kid.”

“It _had_ to be a kid.”

“Mmh. _He’s_ always been fond of symbols.”

“Symbols are crucial. The kids thwarted the Horsepersons with symbols.”

There was a flash in Crowley’s eyes. “Just like in their games. Humans and their imagination! It created War, Famine and Pollution, and it defeated them. Gosh. That’s so typical of them! The worst _and_ the best.”

At least he was able to see both sides of the coin again.

“Smart kids,” Crowley added dreamily with… yes, that was the hint of a smile, wasn’t it?

“Truly wonderful, the mind of a child is.”

Crowley’s jaw dropping proved to Aziraphale he’d done it right.

“Did you just… quote _Star Wars?”_

The angel smirked. All he’d needed was something to distract Crowley before he could find a loophole in their reasoning.9

[9 Aziraphale had no time to figure out whether or not there was a loophole, but speculating upon ineffability is like being a blind-folded person in an extremely vast, dark labyrinth. One seems to be progressing towards the exit until they realise they’ve taken a wrong turn somewhere, probably at the very beginning.]

The demon looked baffled as planned. “I thought you knew nothing about it.”

“I didn’t, but I may have watched a couple of episodes since then.”

“Why?”

“You seemed to like it.”

“Did _you?”_

“It was entertaining. But I’m afraid I randomly selected them and I had some trouble with the chronology. There are three trilogies, right?”

Crowley fell into the trap and launched into an elaborate explanation and a profusely argued comparison of the trilogies’ respective merits.

“Dear,” Aziraphale kindly cut off after a while, “You lost me there. Perhaps you could… show me instead? We could watch…er… the one that you said is the beginning of the story. And I’ll pour us a nice glass of wine while you get the film going, what do you think?”

“I... drank it all last week,” Crowley confessed pitifully.

“Is that the real reason you didn’t want to come with me to the Turner exhibition? Because you were here drinking alone?” Crowley looked down. Had Aziraphale been more impulsive, he wouldn’t have been able to hold back his hand from caressing the demon’s cheek. “Crowley, you don’t have to pretend you’re all right when you’re not.”

“I’m aware of how impossible I am when I feel that way. Didn’t want to be a bother.”

“My dear. _Never.”_

There was too much to read in Crowley’s eyes when he looked up at him. Aziraphale considered it wiser to focus on materialising a bottle of that Rioja his friend liked so much.

 

After _The Phantom Menace,_ they moved on to _Attack of the Clones._ 10 Aziraphale asked every naïve question he could think of. A grateful glance from Crowley made the angel suspect he wasn’t exactly duped but his smiles were genuine and Aziraphale got even some real laughter out of him. Each of them was a victory.

[10 Although Crowley told him the more recent episodes weren’t as iconic as the older ones, but let’s leave that debate to the purists.]

Close to the end of the second film, Crowley leaned gently to rest his head on the angel’s shoulder. He’d never done so, even after several bottles, and they’d hardly drunk even one. Aziraphale must have made a mistake when he’d materialised it. He forced himself to keep breathing quietly and staring at the screen.

Soon, Crowley was snoring softly in the crook of the angel’s neck, as he nestled against him in his sleep. Aziraphale did his best to ignore the hand on his belly and the soft hair tickling his cheek. He took care to remain perfectly still, even after the film was over. There was definitely something wrong with the wine, because he felt tipsy himself. Safer to stay here for the night.


	7. Episode 6

Crowley felt better. Well rested, if not less somewhat bewilderingly high strung. He was aware – as well as grateful and embarrassed1 – that Aziraphale had used a wide range of strategies to ensure he’d gotten a good amount of sleep throughout the past week.2

[1 But still less ashamed than when he’d woken up in the morning after the Star Wars evening, half-lying on Aziraphale and hoping that he hadn’t drooled on the angel’s shoulder (he was pretty sure he had) or that, at least, Aziraphale hadn’t noticed it ( _Someone,_ have mercy!). 

2 Like inviting him for tea time, making him comfortable on the sofa and reading out loud from what was undoubtedly the most boring book from his collection.]

As for the angel, he was looking forward to the end of the series, hoping Crowley had given up the idea of discovering some hidden message in the last episode.

It did include an answer, though, but for Aziraphale. He couldn’t say it had haunted him, but he was glad to find out he’d sent the air base sergeant to his family home. He should make people disappear more often, actually.3 It was fun. Amazing how a critical situation makes one learn about oneself.

[3 He made a mental list of a handful of stubborn regular customers.]

Newton would have agreed, if Matthew Lewis’s delightful air when all the computers shut down was any indication.4

[4 When he’d mentioned James Bond, Crowley had looked at him like one would at someone wearing the same fan t-shirt as them in a convention.]

It was frightening to be reminded how close the Apocalypse had been to occurring. If Anathema had been less clever and the Them less brave, if Beelzebub and the Metatron had convinced the exhausted boy…

“Angel, I must say, your speech was outstanding.”

“Oh, dear, only because you brilliantly followed suit.”

“No, really, casting doubt on the Divine Plan was so smart.”

“I borrowed that from you. You’re always so good at making me question it.”

“I mean, okay, Adam’s free will and all that but... He was about to crack. Without us…”

“They were so lucky we were there.”

“We saved the world, no less.”

They exchanged a self-satisfied look.

The series somehow differed and praised their feat a bit stingily, highlighting Adam’s contribution instead.

“We can clearly see who wrote this,” Crowley taunted.

But they willingly recognised they owed him. “I know all about you two. Don’t you worry” sounded like a reiterated, comforting promise. Unsettling, too, since the boy playing Adam oddly seemed to speak directly to them through the screen.

 _We are the Champions_ stopped short as the ground started cracking, letting yellow smoke gush.

“I shouldn’t have asked you to come with me. It was _your_ boss. And you had only a tyre iron, for Christ’s sake!” said Aziraphale, his voice filled with remorse, as if he’d just realised it. “But… I couldn’t have done it without you.”

“No way I’d have let you fight alone. And… you made me feel free.”

Free and trustworthy. The most precious gift he’d ever been given.

Richard Ayoade was holding out his hand to Riz Ahmed. That didn’t look so hard. Manageable, if Crowley avoided waffling back and forth, for once. With a hopeful and inviting look, he moved his hand on the couch, palm up, toward the angel’s. Aziraphale took it, a quiet smile replacing his briefly surprised air.

He’d looked so fearsome that day, brandishing his flaming sword and standing resolutely, his wings unfurled. It was only fair that Richard was the coolest one in this scene. Not that Crowley was worrying about it for now. Aziraphale’s hand was warm in his. Everything was fine.

And since, this time, nobody pushed them apart, they held hands until Adam’s human father arrived instead of his _other_ father, until the world was safe and until the _Water Music_ led in to a sunny Sunday morning.

 

“Not too painful?” asked Crowley, as Newton and Anathema burned the _Further Nice and Accurate Prophecies._

“Not in the slightest. I’d bet my collection of snuffboxes that all the pages were blank. Besides, I’m done with books of predictions.”

“That’s why the substitution of your books didn’t sadden you?”

“I miss those that Oscar gave to me. But, you know, I’d have known, deep down, that they weren’t the same. Those children’s books are actually quite amusing. And they’re valuable first editions.”5

[5 Of course they attracted more children to his shop. But he had no qualms about glaring at them as well.]

“You’re irredeemable.”

Aziraphale ignored him and frowned at the screen. “Is that part of our conversation in St James’s made up? I don’t remember we talked about the Ineffable Plan.”6

[6 If they could have remembered, they would have noticed that their talk had been slightly altered. But only a certain tall stranger could have attested to that.]

Crowley tried to dissipate the mist enveloping his memory, but it was hard to focus with Aziraphale sitting that close, making him confusedly want _something._ The hell if Crowley knew what it was.

“Our lunch at the Ritz was real, though,” resumed Aziraphale. “What a delightful time we had, didn’t we?” This didn’t really require an answer, but Crowley’s silence was _heavy._ Aziraphale questioningly turned to him. Crowley’s ashen face was alarming. “Dear?” He didn’t react. What was so… _The song._ He was listening to the song the pianist at the Ritz was singing.

    _How could he know we two were so in love?_

  _The whole darn world seemed upside down._

  _The streets of town were paved with stars,_

  _It was such a romantic affair._

  _And as we kissed and said goodnight,_

_A nightingale sang in Berkeley Square._

 

Aziraphale’s brain stumbled over the lyrics.

“Are they… implying… we’re... _in love?”_ Unconsciously, he slowly lifted a hand up to cover his mouth. After a moment in which he could do nothing but blankly stare at the screen, he rested his hand at the base of his neck and forcibly moved his thoughts out of their rut. He was familiar enough with subtext to know the answer to his question. It was just a way to delay the real one. “Are we?”

 Aziraphale’s voice wasn’t much more than a whisper, but Crowley flinched nonetheless. They nervously looked at each other, dumbfounded and somewhat apprehensive.

“Are you... in love with me?” they asked in unison.

“You answer first!” Crowley hurried on.

From the very moment he’d heard the song, he’d known. It was like someone had finally switched on the unlit neon he’d been restlessly circling, unsuccessfully trying to decipher, for several weeks. The series had made him aware of its presence, but he took for granted that it had been in his mind, inconspicuous, concealed under the lies he’d always excelled at telling himself, for God knew how long. Now the neon was flashing on and off saying “I’M IN LOVE WITH AZIRAPHALE!” in huge letters that couldn’t have been more obvious if they’d been underlined twice.

But he couldn’t run the risk of confessing it and exposing himself to Aziraphale’s response. In a fraction of a second, he’d imagined each of his possible reactions, and how almost all of them would ruin their relationship, either shattering or slowly eroding it.

Everything in the angel’s face was conveying something like, “Okay since you want me to answer, I’m going to do it.” He stood up and took a few steps away from the couch. Then he stopped, his back turned, messing up his already untidy hair with a hesitant hand.

His unbearable prolonged silence was anything but a good omen.

Eventually he said awkwardly, without turning around, “I’m sorry...”

 _Oh no._ Crowley closed his eyes and clenched his jaw. _No, please, no._

 “I’m sorry… I wish I could answer straight away but… I have to be absolutely sure first.”

Aziraphale knew he loved Crowley. Friendship is a form of love. But was he _in love_ with Crowley? _This_ was such a human feeling. Could angels fall in love?

“Do you understand?” he added guiltily, facing his friend at last.

Crowley nodded almost imperceptibly, his eyes riveted on his lap. God, he looked so miserable. Like he was about to be sentenced to death.

_God! Crowley was in love with him!_

Aziraphale struggled to get a grip on himself. He couldn’t allow that to influence his answer. It shouldn’t sway his thought. It wouldn’t be _fair._ If he answered lightly, in one way or the other, Crowley would be hurt, now or later. Because _Crowley was in love with him._ And the last thing Aziraphale wanted to do was hurt him.

Heck, how was he supposed to think rationally about the difference between friendship and romance with all this bliss expanding in his chest?

_Crowley was in love with him._

The angel didn’t know if he was on the verge of crying tears of joy, letting out a victory roar, or laughing euphorically. Perhaps all three at once.

 _This_ was the answer he was looking for. So simple, so evident.

He gazed at Crowley. At the dark hair, a lock falling across his lowered forehead. At the no less dark eyelashes, now allowing only a glimpse of his downcast, beautiful, golden eyes. At the slender, graceful hands he was wringing nervously.

He knew all this by heart. And yet it seemed so new.

Dizzy, he wondered why he was still foolishly standing there, so dreadfully far away from Crowley, when he wanted nothing more than to hug him and to share with him this wondrous revelation.

_He was in love with Crowley._

 

Aziraphale knelt in front of him and took him so suddenly, so tightly in his arms that it knocked out of Crowley the breath he’d been holding.

“Oh, Crowley. Yes. Yes, I love you. _I’m in love with you.”_

Aziraphale’s words were interspersed with hysterical laughs and, for a few seconds, Crowley was stunned, unsure he’d heard him right. But the angel didn’t let him go, repeating those marvelous, exhilarating words again and again, in an increasingly steady voice, until Crowley allowed himself to believe them and melt into the embrace.

“Aziraphale?”

“Yes.”

“I love you too,” said Crowley, grinning ecstatically into the angel’s thick curls.

He’d almost forgotten how strong Aziraphale was under his deceptively mild appearance. Ah well, Crowley’s ribs could be healed later.

 

Aziraphale finally loosened his clasp, but he couldn’t bear to end this intoxicating contact. He was drunk with his friend’s scent and warmth, and Crowley’s body pressed against his was making his stomach flutter and his skin tingle in an utterly pleasant way.

It was a familiar sensation, he realised in amazement. Stronger, but similar to how he’d felt every time he’d touched Crowley since… he couldn’t remember when.

“How could I have been so _blind?”_ he murmured.

“Aren’t you meant to be some sort of expert in love?” Crowley teased fondly.

“Clearly not for myself. Or, at least, not this kind of love. It’s so…”

Crowley slightly disentangled himself from Aziraphale and gave him a knowing look.

“Human?”

“Yes.”

They stared into each other’s eyes, unable to restrain a broad, radiant smile, until Crowley said in an amused voice, “Are you planning on kneeling there till the next End of the World? You can release me to sit back on the couch, you know. I’m not going anywhere.”

Aziraphale sat next to him, even closer than before. But now, Crowley knew exactly what he wanted.

“Angel…” Funny how this sounded different now. Or maybe not so different. Not the right time to ponder on it, anyway. “While we’re at this human business… do you think we could…” Crowley felt his cheeks and ears get hot. He was maybe pushing his luck. But, nothing ventured… “What I mean is… would you mind if… if I ki-mpfmmmh“

 _Sweet Somebody._ Aziraphale was kissing him. Crowley pulled himself together and kissed him back. Perhaps he should tilt his head a little. Yes, better. Aziraphale’s lips parted and they grazed Crowley’s in such a thrilling- Oh. _Oh._ Okay, okay, what was he supposed to do with his tongue, precisely? Twisting? Clockwise or not? He felt like a perfect idiot. Six thousand years on Earth and he’d never thought about practising. Reassuringly, Aziraphale was no expert either.

Ah, for Earth’s sake! Couldn’t Crowley’s brain just shut up for once, and let him enjoy the moment? Aziraphale was solid against him, _steady._ He slipped an arm around Crowley, anchoring him firmly. The demon relaxed. There was no shame in letting his angel call the shots.

It was clumsy, and wet, and absolutely _wonderful._

Crowley’s fingers clung to Aziraphale’s jumper. Never let him go. Never stop kissing him. But soon, too soon, the angel pulled away, eyes shining and cheeks exquisitely pink.

Emboldened, Crowley closed the gap and, tightening his grip on his jumper, pulled him into another kiss. Aziraphale seemed more than happy to oblige.

Crowley felt more confident this time. He’d always been a quick learner. And a tongue able to do weird things was definitely a valuable asset. His other hand slid along Aziraphale’s jaw to his hair. The demon revelled in the soft moan he elicited. Oh, he could so easily get addicted to this.

But kissing is hard when both parties are beaming that much. Keen as they were on making it last, they had to break the kiss when Aziraphale started laughing softly. A laugh so incredibly overjoyed that Crowley couldn’t help but follow suit. Forehead against forehead, they remained oblivious to the ending of the programme, until the first notes of the closing theme made them blink at the television screen, just in time to catch the last images.

Disobeying his father, Adam escaped from the garden, an apple in his hand, eagerly looking for new adventures. He winked, facing the camera. Then a fade to black shifted to the credit roll.

“Full circle,” murmured Aziraphale.

“He knew, right? About us,” said Crowley in a low, cautious voice. “Do you think it was what he meant by _You’ll understand, at the end?”_

“It would be a little presumptuous to assume he wrote a whole script for this purpose. But we can’t exclude it was one of his goals.”

“And the Ineffable Plan?”

“What about the Ineffable Plan?” Aziraphale asked unenthusiastically. He was hoping to do a lot of activities with Crowley that were more pleasurable than talking about the Ineffable Plan.

“No answers?”

“Only questions. We have to make up our own answers, I guess.”

“Another of Adam’s goals? Using an outwardly purely entertaining story to make people think?”

“Well, he does that all the time through his job. That’s why his books are good. Anyway, he was right.”

“About?”

“It’s all for the best. Or at least, it would be if you could stop asking questions for a moment and kiss me instead.”

Crowley made a point of wiping that smirk off Aziraphale’s lips with a long, passionate kiss worthy of a James Bond movie.

 

“They should’ve concluded the series with a kiss,” he eventually said, magnanimously granting to the angel a short respite to collect himself. “It’s always a good ending for a story.”

Aziraphale smiled, tenderly running his thumb over Crowley’s cheekbone. “Rather a good beginning.”


End file.
